Fragments
by audreyslove
Summary: Regina, now merged with the Evil Queen, is set on helping Robin adjust to Storybrooke. He asks her to tell him more about this version of himself that she loved, so she does. They both wonder if a part of her Robin is buried somewhere inside him while he buries a part of him inside her. (written for the the prompt: "Regina and Robin bang in the vault")


**A/N: Regina merges with the Evil Queen, and then tries to understand and help Wish!Robin in storybrooke. Lots of M rated stuff happens because it's me and I like to give you guys porn, ya know. Oh btw in this fic, the 6x13 kiss never happened.**

* * *

He's not Robin.

It's an unspoken mantra spinning in a loop in her head, one that she keeps repeating, over and over, so that she doesn't forget. One that has only gotten stronger since she merged with her Evil Self, since the darkness fell back inside her, feeding her cynicism.

He's not Robin.

He's just a shell, that's what she should think of him as. As a walking talking _thing_ , and that's all he — no, _it_ — is. Because _it_ is not real, _it_ is just a creation of the wish realm.

And _it_ is not Robin. It's just something that looks like him.

Except it's _not_ something that _just_ looks like him, because the man that's in front of her (try as she might to convince herself otherwise, he walks, talks, breathes, feels, he is _not_ a thing, he is a man, a living, breathing, beautiful man) shares many of the same mannerisms as _her_ Robin. He stares at her with crystal blue eyes, his eyebrows raise just like her Robin's, his tongue peeks out to wet his lips, his lower lip catches in his teeth…. all just like _her_ Robin. He sounds a little like her Robin, too. There's a tempo to his voice, and while there are some subtle differences, the snarky comebacks, the teasing little looks he throws when they banter... those are all there, in such precise detail.

He's not Robin.

But he _smells_ like Robin. And how can that be? It's an entirely different realm but here he is, smelling like clean spring water, fresh pine, and that musky smell unique to _her_ Robin. At least, it was unique. But now a man who is _not_ Robin shares that scent, and that combined with his dimpled smile and calloused fingertips that caress her palms and stroke her arm in a way that may seem innocent yet feels anything but.. well, that's a hard thing to ignore.

He's not Robin.

He's not _her_ Robin, but he seems to have the same taste as her thief. Since she's merged, she notices he appreciates her even more than before. And her thief always did like a hint of the Evil Queen in her, didn't he?

Not Robin's eyes linger, focus on places of her body _her_ Robin had rather liked. He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip like _her_ Robin as he stares at her ass. When she catches him looking, that sheepish look that says _Yes, I was looking, but can you blame me?_ paints over his face, nearly knocking her back with nostalgia and grief and love and lust.

"I can quite understand what this version of me saw in you," _not_ Robin flirts, staring unashamed up and down her body. "You're quite… incredible." He's not supposed to be flirting, not at all, she's explaining electricity to him, telling him how to work an oven, how to turn on and off the lights, and the joys of indoor plumbing. He's much to learn in this realm, but he's focused all his efforts learning every inch of her body, devouring her with his eyes, and being very distracting at that.

"Robin…" she warns, and her tone, her voice, everything reminds her of the way she'd talk to _her_ Robin. He responds in kind, raising his eyebrows and shooting her a proud smirk.

"I want to know more about this version of me," he says, "I can learn about this... magical fire... thing later." He points to the overhead light with a shrug. "Tell me who he was."

In truth, she's told him the details of _her_ Robin's life — almost, that is. She's left out his children, and frankly, she's not sure how to bring that up. It's hard enough to tell this man that there's a son, a part of him and Marian, existing in another realm. A child he can never meet, for it would be torture for Roland to see a man who looks like his Papa but has no memory of him at all. So yes, Roland is hard enough to explain. But his second child, and the disaster that stemmed from that story... she doesn't have the heart. She will tell him, not now, though. Later.

Instead, she has told him the story of a thief who would not quit snarking an Evil Queen, of an outlaw who aimed his arrow at the head of the woman who later fell in love with him, she's told him of lion tattoos and magical crystal sticks of doom, of the many times he saved her life without a care, of her failed attempts to save his. She has even told this version of Robin how _he_ came to exist - a story of magical genies and wishes granted in peculiar ways.

Yet she has not really told him who _her_ Robin was, truly, inside. She's told his stories, but not of his character, of the truth in his heart. And he deserves to hear about it, this man who is _not_ Robin.

But still, the request is a punch to the gut, brings excitement and dread to her. She wants him to know their past, too, wants him to know of _her_ Robin, perhaps a part of her wishes for him to learn so much about her Robin that he will step into his shoes, pretend to be him, convincingly enough that she can let herself forget her Robin died at all.

"He was... a man with honor." She clears her throat, and her hand finds its way to her hair, nervously playing with a stray lock that won't stay put (her hair's too short now, she knows, it never stays behind her ears, it's too short wear it this way now, like she did when _he_ was with her). "He had conviction. He was stubborn," she laughs, "I could never convince him of anything." She pauses, feeling the prick of tears behind her eyes. "Couldn't even convince him to stay away from me when I told him being close would cost him his life."

"And what do you think he would say now, knowing you were right all along?" he asks, and he's so open and gentle with her that she doesn't even hate herself for letting the tears fall freely. "He'd say…" she sniffles, and tries desperately to keep her voice calm. "He'd say it was worth it. He always told me that if he died because of me, he'd have no regrets because…" it's a hard sob now, "because I was worth it."

"Yes," _Not_ Robin says, with a smile. "That does sound like something I'd say." And he looks her over again, and if a look, a mere gaze, could peel back layers of fabric and expose someone, well, she'd be stark naked right now.

"What if you're right? What if a part of me lives on in him? What if, deep down inside, I _am_ him?"

She shakes her head, won't let herself believe it.

"You said yourself that I'm different than the rest of those in the wish realm. I didn't age, there's — we don't understand what it is. What if _his_ memory, or his soul, is trapped somewhere inside me?"

Something that feels a lot like hope reaches out to choke her, the bastard, always after her, attacking her when she's vulnerable. "No, that's not—"

"Not possible? In a land where wish realms exist, in a land of magical genies and giant crystal sticks that shatter souls, it's not possible?"

And maybe it is possible, because that cocky, snarky reply is so very reminiscent of _her_ Robin, and in this moment she finds she believes in the possibility that he is there, somewhere, deep inside.

"Show me places that meant something to you," he says, more softly. She doesn't flinch as he moves towards her, doesn't shy away from him when his hand goes to cup her cheek. She even leans into the touch as his thumb rubs against her jaw. God, she loves his hands, his fingers. His everything. "I want to know more of your story with… a version of me."

"Why?" she asks. Her head is tilted into his hand, eyes closed, and her knees are weak. His touch is mesmerizing, and she's sure she looks the very picture of pathetic right now, but she can't begin to care.

"Because I feel a connection to you," he breathes. He is close, lips centimeters from hers, he only needs to tilt his head ever so slightly to close the gap between them. "I don't know what it is, but I'm addicted to the feel of it. And if I have an opportunity to feel more…"

"Alright," she agrees. "I can show you some places. If only to prove this theory wrong. Because my Robin is dead."

"But I'm alive," he insists, "and I want to know you this way."

She doesn't argue further. She just takes his hand, and transports him to a place with meaning.

.::.

The forest is bleak and dead around them, the smell of rotting leaves permeates the air, mixed with the smell of wet earth. It's been raining, and there's still a foggy mist clinging to the earth. The weather has a way of making everything look… mysterious. Ominous.

Robin can't imagine what special memory he could have shared with this beautiful woman, this reformed Evil Queen, here in the bleak understated grounds of a shoddy looking cottage.

It seems he wasn't quite the romantic, this other version of himself.

Good. He never much cared for sappy romance, never saw the point in waiting for beautiful places to be the backdrop of any important moment.

"Where are we?" he asks as they walk up the gravel road to the cottage.

"My sister's farmhouse," she says with a tight smile. "The first time we, um...ever spoke to one another in this town, he uh, shot an arrow at my head."

He laughs at that, a hearty guffaw he cannot help but let out. She looks hurt at first, and he's about to apologize, but then she joins in, chuckling softly and beautifully (is there anything on earth she can _not_ do beautifully? She's so very beautiful, this woman).

"Where was he when he shot at you?" he asks.

They start reenacting the scene. She seems to even enjoy showing this to him, and he's grateful he hasn't caused her more pain.

"He claimed he thought I might be the witch," Regina says with an eyebrow. "But I never quite believed that."

"Do you think he was trying to kill you?" Robin asks. He's more amused than anything. Proud, as it were, that this version of himself shirked an average boring love story in favor of something more... intriguing.

"Perhaps. Or perhaps he knew I had magic and were just testing my skill. In any case, I caught his arrow in mid air."

He loads an arrow on his bow now, pulls it back, and smiles at her. She nods.

He releases it, aiming straight for her head. He never misses.

He should probably be scared he will seriously wound or kill the woman, but he is completely convinced she can hold her own.

She catches the arrow with a graceful ease that takes his breath away. Somehow now she is even _more_ sexy, _more_ irresistible, _more_ tantalizing, mind numbingly gorgeous, and god, those lips...

Those lips are quivering, and her face is no longer playful, it's pained. Something about the way he's looking at her has left a wound. He feels like an ass.

"Apologies, milady," he starts, "If I was too forward…"

"No," she waves off, trying to hide a tear as she walks toward the house, "You did nothing wrong." she walks steadily towards him, focusing on the door in front of him. "My sister is out, let me show you another place where we — where _Robin and I_ um, connected."

She leads him inside with a little motion of her shoulders. She's silent but shaking, nerves coming into play despite the best attempt to steel herself.

"He followed me in here and told me I had a partner. I told him I didn't want one.

I tried to push him away, to intimidate him, but... for the first time in a long while, my efforts were in vain."

He can't imagine ever wanting to run from this woman, but he knows telling her so will only make her argue, so instead he just smiles at her, and says "Well, it sounds like this version of me was quite the thorn in your side." He winks at her.

They know he was anything but.

She still looks a bit out of sorts, so he turns his attentions to the room. There's a shelf of bottles of assorted sizes and shapes against the far wall, and it looks interesting. She's told him her sister, the person who owns this house, is a witch, and he wonders instantly about the content of these containers. Perhaps a moment of levity, to break her out of her shell.

"So, anything useful here?" he asks, pointing at the shelf behind her. "By that I mean, do any of these contain magical properties?"

Her face goes white, her jaw nearly drops to the floor, and oh, no. No no, this is the opposite of what he wanted.

"What's wrong, milady?"

Her eyes are filled with tears, and she's dead locked on him, as if he suddenly has three heads.

"N-Nothing" she chokes out, then shakes her head, "Nothing. Sorry, it's nothing."

But it's not nothing. She's shaking, and pale, and wound tight. She needs something to settle the nerves.

He glances to the shelves behind her and finds something he thinks might help.

He approaches her, lets himself get close (so close, he wants to kiss her, but not now, not when she's so upset). Her eyes follow his lips, and she must be thinking the same thing, wondering if he will kiss her and not quite sure if she wants that. But instead he reaches behind her, and grabs a bottle of amber colored liquid.

"What about this? Is this magical?" he asks.

The noise that comes out of her is something between a cry and a laugh. And her hand flies over her mouth, desperately trying to muffle the sounds of her sobs.

He feels like a complete cad, a useless wanker, and god, what horrible memory did he cause her to relive?

"Milady, I've hurt you," he says above a whisper, "I know I don't know you well but…" he draws his arms up and open to her. He itches to touch her, but wonders if his touch will burn as badly as his words. "Can I…?"

She throws her arms around him and hugs him tightly. Strangled sobs slip freely onto his shoulder. He soothes a hand over her back, drawing light patterns while he makes soft hushing sounds into her ear.

She loves deeply, this woman. She mourns deeply, too. He thinks of the people in _his_ life and realizes that there is no one that would ever cry for him the way this so-called Evil Queen mourns for that other version of him.

He'd rather like the opportunity for someone like this to care for him so much.

"He said the same things," Regina finally explains lifting her head. "You and he said the same things, exactly the same, and I don't understand. I can see it in your eyes, you don't remember any of this, and still… I've played this day over in my head a thousand times and you just said _exactly_ what _he_ said to me. How can that be?"

"I don't know, Regina, I don't." He says. He's curious when he adds, "...why was this day so important? Besides finding out that other me wants to murder you, of course."

She laughs at that, and wipes at the last of her tears, drawing in a big breath and letting it out slowly. She sounds much more in control when she explains, "I realized I was... attracted to him here." He cannot resist smirking which causes her to roll her eyes. "Not just attracted to him physically, attracted to the banter, his personality, I felt drawn to him. And then he offered me a drink and…" She grabs his right hand and pushes up his sleeve. Fingers dance over his tattoo with a tenderness he wasn't prepared for.

"I saw this."

She has already explained the significance of the tattoo, and how she ran from him that night in the tavern, and ran again this day in the farm house. She admits now that the prospect of love had always scared her since Daniel left the earth. She confesses she felt too much for this version of him, too fast, and she was terrified of what it meant.

He understands. He can relate.

"But I'm sure your Robin fell just as fast," he says, looking into red-rimmed, chocolate brown eyes that have hypnotized him, thinking of how electric her touch is to him, how much he wants to kiss and feel her. "If he's anything like me... and it appears he is, he'd be quite distracted with thoughts of kissing you now…"

It's a bold confession, and it seems to shock Regina, but she does not run. Instead she catches her bottom lip with her teeth and shakes her head back and forth.

"Such a flirt," she drawls, "do you really think such saccharine lines will win over the _queen?"_

He shrugs. "Worth a shot."

And it was worth something, because she's smiling now and all that's left of her tears is a bit of sparkling residue on her cheeks.

"Show me another place that was important to you and him," he asks, "I want to know more."

She takes his hand tenderly and transports them in a puff of smoke.

When the hazy colored cloud of magic dissipates, he sees they are in the middle of the forest, near a fallen down log.

He feels at ease here. The forest is home. He likes this log, this makeshift bench. He sits down on it and looks up at her. "This log?"

She nods and smiles as she sits down next to him.

"He encouraged me to keep fighting on this log," she explains. "I was doubting myself, my abilities. I discovered that the Dark One had thought my sister was stronger than me, the whole time. But he didn't let me wallow. And we developed a plan…" She sighs, looks at him with some dread. "I gave him my heart, Robin. And I don't mean figuratively, I mean literally. As the Evil Queen I—"

"Yes, I know your reputation for ripping hearts out of people's bodies. You ripped your own heart out?" She nods, looking down at the log.

But he's heard the stories of what happens when one holds another's heart literally in their hands. It's power, complete power. She surrendered something so valuable, so utterly priceless.

"But you gave your heart to a common thief like me?"

.::.

"There was nothing common about him," she responds softly.

"And you trusted he wouldn't use it to control you, or hurt you or—"

"I trusted him with my life. And with the lives of this whole town. And my trust was rewarded, because he… he lived up to everything I ever could have imagined. He kept it safe until…" She thinks of _Roland_ , the boy she cannot name, "until a child was threatened and he had to give my heart away to save his life. And I wouldn't have it any other way, Robin. I am grateful he knew the life of a child should always come first."

He nods, seems to understand. "Your Robin had a soft spot for children," he says, and she wants to know whether the man in front of her shares that quality, but she's too afraid to ask.

"Yes," she answers. "We both shared that. My son, he's my world and—"

"I understand," he says, "I always wanted a child, you know. Of course I was never in the right place for children... but…" he frowns, seemingly searching for words, "I'm not sure what I would have done with your heart, I'm a thief by nature. But I do believe I would have spared the child." He seems to ponder more, then adds, "I wouldn't have lived with myself otherwise, I think."

There's a story there. She can tell. Something in that wistful stare, in the way he looks while thinking of a child. So yes, there's a story there, but he may not be ready to tell it. So she doesn't ask him about it. She just puts a hand on his shoulder and lets him know she's _here_ for him.

Now it's his eyes that shine with unshed tears, and she wants to kiss those tears away, but she can't, because he's not _her_ Robin. Still, she feels herself pulled toward him like a magnet, and he's leaning into her as well, and if she just… if she lets this happen they might... they will?

"Hmm... ready to go to the next place?" she asks, breaking out of the trance she was in, fiddling again with the too-short locks of hair.

"Oh... yes. Absolutely." Robin struggles to compose himself, and rises from his log. "Show me the next place."

.::.

She takes him to his camp next. It's abandoned now, there's quiet where there once was the laughter and screams and curses of the raunchy, ragtag group of men Robin had led.

She wonders how they are doing now, alone, without their leader. Would John always steer them correctly? Would he keep them from danger?

It doesn't matter. They chose to leave her, chose to take Roland without even a goodbye. They didn't care for her, she should not care about them.

Robin looks at home here, he's walking around, smiling. She wonders for a second if he remembers something, and then curses herself for letting hope bubble up to the surface, if only for a moment.

"This was his camp," she explains. He spent so much time here, even though he's been gone the place smells of him, she can almost feel him everywhere, all around her.

"He and his men lived here, in the forest."

"And I truly led a group of men?" He asks, astounded as he walks around the abandoned campsite, past where pitched tents once laid, where fires were once stoked and tended to, where meals were shared under the moonlight.

"Yes," she chokes out. "He was an excellent leader. He convinced a group of outlaws to dedicate their lives to robbing from the rich and giving to the poor. He was…" she shakes her head, smiling nostalgically. "something special."

He walks over to the area where his tent used to be, and sits down _right_ in the spot. Her breath hitches.

"Do you… do you remember anything?" she asks. She hates herself for asking. Shuts her eyes and winces as he admits, _No._

"But I _feel_ things, I... I can't explain it." He shakes his head. "I feel a connection to this place. Looking at it, makes me feel happiness, joy… pride." He breathes out a frustrated breath. "It's like I have all the feelings from past memories I can't access. It's...hard to explain."

"Oh," she says, schooling her disappointment.

"But," and he looks at her, smiling, "I feel things when I look at you."

He walks towards her, and moves her back. "Here. I like this spot right here."

He's standing to the right of the fire, near that tree and yes, something happened there.

"I kissed Robin here," she says, and she can't help but feel embarrassed about it, she feels like a teenager. "For the first time. And then he kissed me."

Somehow, at some point, he's tangled his fingers in hers, and they are just looking at each other, joined hands between them. He pulls her in closer, closer…

Too close.

She backs away.

"He encouraged me. Supported me. Refused to be afraid of me, even when he should have been. Told me I _mattered._ All here. We... have many fond memories here."

"I'll bet you did."

He is smiling at her in _that_ way, that knowing glint in his eye that says he believes there's something _else_ that happened here (there is, she may be a queen, but she laid in a thief's tent like a peasant and let him suck and kiss and touch goose-pimpled, cold, exposed flesh until he had her sweat slicked and hot). But she doesn't need to tell him _everything_ that happened here.

She wants to skip the next place they have to go. She doesn't want to take him there, but if there's a chance, if his memories _are_ starting to jar, if those emotions that he's feeling are a sign of what's to come, this next place could jump start something.

"We should… go." God, were words always so hard to form? Was it always this difficult looking into Robin's eyes, to think, to speak, to stand…

"As you wish, milady," Robin says with a wink.

And she poofs them to her office.

She holds her breath. This office has memories, both happy and sad, and seeing him here is overwhelming.

Her legs are shaky, knees buckling as she forces herself to breathe in and out. She makes it to the couch, narrowly avoiding collapsing on the floor.

He's puzzled, and makes his way to the fireplace with a smile.

"I know what happened here," he breathes.

"You... remember?" she asks. He's there, right where they had a little picnic, right where they had their first time. Hope blooms in her chest, though her brain warns her against it.

"I can feel it," he admits, sitting next to her. His gaze turns heated. "I can't remember, Regina, but, my heart is... racing."

He grabs her hand and puts it over his heart. His beating heart. God, how comforting it is to feel his heart.

"You're beautiful," he rasps. He combs a hand through her hair. "Tell me about it, please."

"He told me he loved me here for the first time," she breathes, "it was complicated and messy and we couldn't be together yet, but he told me he loved me and it meant everything to me. I never thought of myself... I didn't think anyone would ever love me. I thought I had made sure of it. But he loved me just the same."

"Why couldn't we be together?" He asks, but she shakes her head. Not ready to go into that mess.

"Why don't you share something. Tell me what you feel," she asks, because that is what she needs, to even continue this charade, to even allow herself to believe this man has any connection to _her_ Robin besides the same face and body.

He laughs a bit, cards fingers through his hair, and she thinks she sees him blush.

.::.

From the moment he stepped into this room he felt something cold and dark tugging at him, some overwhelming sense of sadness. She must have felt it too, the way she limped off to the couch, as if she had been wounded, gravely hurt….

But when he walked over to her to comfort her, the dark feelings escaped and were replaced with far nicer ones. Carnal lust and this soaring in his heart he _knows_ is love.

He felt at home in the forest, comfortable and at peace. That's not surprising, that a particular spot made him feel warm and safe — many spots of the forest do.

But here, he doesn't just feel warm, not just safe (an office such as this one should make him feel neither, he would be more likely to feel that dread he felt on the opposite end of the room). He feels _her._

Rather, he can _almost_ feel her on him, and it's a bit disarming. He'd think nothing of it if circumstances weren't what they were, he'd call this a vivid fantasy his mind wouldn't let go of (she's a beautiful woman and allegedly fated to him, at least a version of him, it's not surprising he is imagining her tongue sliding up his stomach, not really). But he has to wonder now if this is really a fantasy, or if this actually happened.

"I— when I look at you…" he sighs and then smiles back at her. "It's hard to explain without sounding a bit... uncouth."

"Oh?" she asks, her lips curving into a smile.

"Mmm," he said, "it could just be that we've had a long day, and that you are wearing a particularly…." He lets his eyes roam over her curves. He'd do it even if Regina didn't like it — but she does, he sees the way she reacts to him, "well-fitted garment."

Her top is a shimmery fabric (silk, he wonders), and it's red. He likes red on her, and for a second he wonders if her Robin loved it too, if maybe she wore it for him.

But then again, red just looks good on her. She probably has a closet full of the color, and if she doesn't, she ought to.

She's also wearing a leather skirt, and it's tight, and it's good. She has a nice ass, this Evil Queen. People loved talking about it in the villages, whispering in hushed tones about the tight velvet fabric that held the Kingdom's greatest treasure. He never saw the Queen for himself, however, and never got to join in the talk of horny men bragging about what they would do if they got their hands on her. He probably would have, of course, if he had seen her. He's not this noble thief with honor, after all.

She blushes and shies away from his gaze, smoothing her hair and smiling back at him. "Thank you, I think." She gives.

"Oh no, it is I who should _thank you_ " he retorts, "this whole ensemble… does things to me." he bites his lip, trying to place the words for how he feels.

"It could just be my fantasies running away with me," he admits, "you're a beautiful woman, Regina, and I'm a man who appreciates beauty. But…" she's leaning into him now, leaning into the couch, closer, and that's it, he's finally going to get to kiss her, finally get to see if her breath tastes like the sweet citrus he keeps imagining and…

He strokes her hair, the runs a hand down her cheek, til he reaches her chin and ups it gently. "I don't remember any of this, Regina, but somehow…" her mouth parts, tongue running over to lick her lips, and that's it, there's where his resolve crumbles to shit.

He dives in and kisses her, and he's fairly certain she meets him halfway with an open mouth. She _does_ taste of sweet citrus, her tongue does feel like he had imagined, like he had fantasized, or maybe…

After a few short seconds, he finds that he's kissing her a bit differently than he normally would. It's hard to explain, his tongue is moving of its own volition, meeting hers in matched swirling movements. It's instinct kicking in, he supposes.

She lets out a little moan and then parts from the kiss with a startled look. She's scared of this, of them, but he won't let her wallow, won't let her overthink. His hands still grip her hips, and he moves them towards him again, determined to wipe that fretting look off her face.

"How is it I knew how you'd taste?" He murmurs, and that's it, she's kissing him again, her hands are pulling at his shirt, so she can touch the bare skin of his torso.

Her Robin must have kept in the same shape, because she likes what she finds there, smoothing up his chest and gasping into the kiss, deepening it, nibbling on his lip.

He reaches to untuck her blouse from her skirt, slowly, waiting for her to stop him, but she doesn't, she only takes a hand and moves his for him, up her body, under the shirt. He takes the hint and moves upwards, towards her breasts. It's a curious, short corset she's wearing, but he feels her hard nipples poking through the thin fabric and he can't say he's disappointed in the underclothes of this world at all.

His thumbs roll over her nipples and he pinches them, lightly at first, and then a second time, perhaps a bit stronger than he normally would, but the sound that comes out of her mouth is heavenly, and encouraging, so he does it again.

Her hands fly out from under his shirt, move to grasp it by the collar and then she's pulling him on top of her as she lies down on the couch, and that's it, this is happening.

He breaks the kiss, only intending to remove some clothes. He'll have her on this couch, and maybe on that table behind them, or on the rug by the fire. Every place sounds amazing and he has a feeling she's already slept with a version of him in all these places.

But before he can so much as take off his shirt her expression has changed from lustful and heated to panicked.

"Sorry," she says, shaking her head, "I didn't… I got carried away."

Her apology is a bucket of cold water on the fiery moment, and he lets out a puff of air slowly. He doesn't want her to ever apologize for touching, or for kissing.

"Don't be sorry. I'm the one who kissed you. I'm the one who started this."

"It's not…." she clears her throat, and tries to adjust herself a bit. "We shouldn't... here. I couldn't… I couldn't ever _here."_

"Something bad happened here," he realizes out loud. "I felt… uneasy when we first arrived."

"He died here. His soul… I watched it evaporate, I…" she smoothes wrinkles off her shirt and tucks it into her skirt, standing abruptly, "I can't believe I was going to do this _here_."

"Hey, hey, hey." He won't have her upset at herself over this, absolutely not. She doesn't deserve it, and he might not be _her_ Robin, but he is _a version_ of Robin, so he can speak with a little authority. "You told me he died for you, yeah? He'd want you to be happy. He wouldn't want you to waste the rest of your life mourning him. That's not what he wants… I'm sure of it. I would know, wouldn't I?"

She seems to perk up a bit at that, and nods. "You _would_ know, I suppose," she said. She takes his hand, and walks him over to where he died. He's overtaken by the anxiety, the ominous threat he feels in that spot. It's a bit overwhelming.

"Does this... jog any memories?"

"No memories" he breathes, "though I'd rather like to leave if it's all the same to you."

She nods, blinking back tears.

"Some place happy," he amends, "some place where something happy happened."

She smiles thinly and nods, purple smoke surrounds them.

She takes them to a crypt, it appears.

It's a curious thing, how this is supposed to be the place of a _happy_ memory. But Regina looks happy here, despite the fact her eyes are shining bright with tears.

And he feels safe here. And a desire to take care of her, to love her, to treat her right. A renewed sense of passion, that carnal desire to take her and slam her against the solid stone wall is still there, but it's more tempered back with another feeling. Pure, unadulterated love.

Part of him loves her, though they only just met.

.::.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He's telling her that he feels things, but remembers nothing, and that's all it takes for her to go on hoping that her Robin is in there.

She barely knows him. She certainly never felt a connection to the man _before_ she merged, and this new connection could be her evil self tricking her. This man is dark too, far too dark with no light as far as she can tell. He could be playing her. This could all be an act.

She hates herself for not believing it _is_ all an act, for hoping and clinging to something she has no right to dream of. She does not dream.

She notices for the first time that there's a bit of difference in the way he walks than her Robin. He's missing that little confident bounce in his step that her Robin had. This Robin slinks about, the way you'd think a skilled thief would. It's subtle, but it's something that doesn't quite match. His hair, it's a little darker. It's not as noticeable in the sunlight. The sun catches the strands and illuminates them, makes them shine. But here, in the dark, she can tell his hair is just a bit different. She tries to cling to the difference, a reminder that this is all wrong. But her damn heart won't let her.

He's wearing Robin's clothes, the exact clothes he wore when he went to her and told her he could not stay away from her, that he had to have her.

"I've never thought of a crypt as being a particularly _happy_ place," Robin says, looking around. "But it appears you've used this place as a... study?"

"It's... yes, a bit of a study. I keep potions here. And spellbooks. It's where I keep my secrets."

"Was he your secret?" he asks, smiling innocently, because he doesn't know.

"Well…" Regina sighs and runs hands through her hair. "Remember when I told you about... how Marian returned?"

He nods, smiling at her. "And you saved her. Despite loving him, despite wanting to be with him."

"I worked on it… here. And I told him he had to stop loving me and start loving her, so he could wake her with true love's kiss." She shakes her head slowly. God, it was such a heartbreaking time, but helping him, doing something for others... it made her feel good. "But he came here late one night, while I was working, and told me, in so many words, his code be damned, he couldn't stay away from me. And it was…"

Tears prick at the backs of her eyes, and she opens them wide, willing them to fade before she inevitably has to blink. She doesn't want the tears to fall, but she may be fighting a losing battle. Because she's never had to talk about this moment before, and hasn't let herself dwell much on it. It seems wrong to cherish a moment when a woman's life laid in the balance. But, well, that woman turned out to be her evil sister, and that lessens the guilt a little.

"I never thought I'd have this. Ever. A man who cared so much about me he'd... even with a wife back from the dead he still cared for _me._ He made me feel... worthy of love. And beautiful. And irresistible. I'm so used to being feared, and avoided, and hated, a person people can't wait to get away from—"

"Now, that's enough," _not_ Robin says, stalking towards her, "don't you go reliving those bad feelings. I may not be _him_ but I can more than understand how he'd fall in love with you."

Her cheeks heat. She hopes she doesn't blush.

"I mean it," he assures, walking closer to her, wrapping arms around her waist. She meets his gaze, and god, he's gorgeous. So good looking. How did she get lucky enough to be fated with such a good looking man? "You're kind, and caring," he bites that lip again, dammit, and lets his eyes wander over her body, up and down, "and stunning. Since I've been here I've wanted to do the complete opposite of getting away from you."

She smiles despite herself, shaking her head slightly.

"There it is," he says, smoothing a thumb over her bottom lip, "there's that smile I keep searching for everytime I'm with you. I wish I could see it all the time. But it's even more satisfying when you have to work for it, I suppose."

It's... so close to what her Robin said that it knocks the breath out of her. But this time, instead of it scaring her, upsetting her, it just feels… right.

"Is that so?" she breathes slowly, wrapping her own arms around his waist.

"Mhmm," he practically moans. His eyes are still on her lips, the hand that was on her mouth is now threading through her hair. His touch is electric, his face is getting closer to hers, and….

She turns her head away a second before his lips meet hers. It's awkward, and she worries he will feel rejected and leave her, walk away, and she doesn't want that, not at all.

But he seems to know. He even keeps that hand at the nape of her neck, and draws it up, scratching the back of her scalp, and god, that feels amazing.

"So," he rasps, as he scratches up and down the base of her neck in a way that makes her whole body tingle, "He told you that he couldn't stay away from you, and then what happened?"

One look in his eyes tells her he knows. It should be a funny question but instead of laughing she's returning his heated gaze with one of her own.

"Did he do this?" He moves that hand that's been scratching her head and runs it over her cheek. She shuts her eyes right at the feel of it, and let's out a little sigh.

Robin pulls back a strand of her hair and tucks it behind her ear, as he leans in and whispers, "Did he tell you how impossibly beautiful you are?" He nips at her earlobe, and she lets out a slight gasp, "How sexy?" Another little nibble on her earlobe causes her to moan. She loves that, loves when _her_ Robin would kiss her there.

She's the one who moves his head, a palm on either cheek directing him back towards her lips. She crashes into him, and it's rough and passionate and exactly what she needs. He kisses her back with fervor, with a hunger that she loves.

She loved their night in the vault, loved that he showed up desperate for her, that he touched her as if he couldn't stop, it was that unbridled desire that made her feel _needed_ and _sexy_ and yes, _loved._

This time is very much the same. They've both wanted each other all day, and their movements are hurried as she works to get his vest off him, trading frantic, deep kisses.

He's hard as a rock for her, she can feel him on her hip, and he moves and breathes and kisses and sucks so similar to her Robin, she lets herself forget they are different people in the moment.

He moves his hands behind her, and she's a bit surprised when he grabs and kneads at her ass. The little sound that he makes the second he fondles her flesh is fucking music to her ears, that satisfied little _Mmm!_ he cannot help but let out.

She's worked his shirt off now, so he's only in that sleeveless white tee. She rubs up and down those arms. Strong, muscular arms. _God,_ she loves his arms. There's something missing, though. She looks down his right bicep and finds that the scar — the one she loved to lick and kiss — is gone.

He finally catches up, untucking her shirt yet again and sliding it up over her head. He doesn't ask permission the way _he_ had those first few times, he just goes for it, and she loves it.

He pushes her back, breaking the kiss so he can look at her. She's in her bra now, and he has not seen the underclothes of this world, so it must be... odd for him.

Of course, from the heated gaze he gives her, this is anything but uncomfortable.

"God, this is sexy," he pants, as he traces over the edges of black lace.

"Wait til you see what I have under this skirt," she counters.

He kisses her fiercely, and it's all heat and passion as he gropes and kneads at her ass. He makes his way to the waist of her skirt, trying to find out exactly how to take the garment off. Their world did not have zippers, after all. And his clothes are free of them, she even gave him pants with a button fly.

She directs him to the zipper, placing his hand on the slider, covering it with her own and drawing it down.

She could have just taken it off herself, but she can't resist an opportunity to give another quick lesson on the ways of this realm.

She imagines he will be unzipping lots of things. Hopefully lots of things she's wearing.

She shimmies out of the tight garment, lets it fall to the ground before stepping out of it, careful not to tangle her heeled feet in the leather around her.

When she meets his eyes, the look on his face is fucking perfect.

"Fuck," he breathes. She's in black lace tangas to match her bra, and the scrap of lace flatters her as much as it teases him.

"Turn around, I want to see your beautiful ass in this... thing."

She chuckles, but there's nothing funny about this to Robin. There's something absolutely irresistible about his solemn expression, and that _predatory look_ he's giving her makes her insides turn molten.

She turns away from him, breathing out a slow puff of air, resisting the urge to just pull the damn panties to the side and take him in her hands and guide him inside her. She needs it, needs him, has wanted him like this from the moment she saw him, and it was tiring and so frustrating trying to fight it.

He groans appreciatively as she spins, and she feels his hand skim down slowly from her shoulder blades, past the dip in the small of her back, and over the swell of her ass. He cups and squeezes greedily.

"You've no idea how good you look," he breathes as he kisses her shoulder. He slides one strap of her bra down and then the other, kissing his way down each shoulder as he does.

"I've wanted you from the first moment I saw you, do you know that?" he asks, drawing hands down her sides. "When I robbed you, I couldn't stop looking at you, couldn't stop thinking about your beautiful face either. And then the more I got to know you…" a hand sneaks into her underwear, two fingers run through her wetness and he loses his train of thought as he juts his hips against her ass, she's aware he's still very, very hard. " _So wet,_ god, you want this badly too, don't you?"

"Y- _ah_! Yesss!" His fingers are calloused and feel like Robin's, and he's rubbing and sliding through her sex and Regina cannot concentrate at all on speech.

His free hand reaches up to grope at her breasts, touching her sensitive, aching nipples the way he had in the office.

Except now the white hot pleasure she feels doesn't fill her with guilt, it just spurs her on more, rules her further. She throws back her head and lets out an indulgent moan.

"I need this off," Robin says, tugging at her bra. He takes her breasts out of each cup, but that's not enough for him, it seems. Regina unhooks the bra with her magic, and removes the offending garment from her body.

Those two fingers finally slide inside her. Despite the fact that it's been awhile — she hasn't even been in the right frame of mind to _please herself_ lately, not since Robin died- she's still wet and hot and ready for him. Robin groans as she stretches pleasantly around him.

"God, I wanna be inside you," he mutters before planting a sucking kiss to her neck. "Been thinking of this since I met you."

"Me too," she admits, because she _has,_ like it or not, whatever it says about her, she's been through hell and she's tired of telling herself she can't have _this._ He's alive, and he's gorgeous, and he wants her, and her heart is about to explode from all the things she feels at once.

He's doing his best to work her with his hand, but the angle is a bit screwy and her damn panties, as thrilling as they may be, are making things difficult. So she hooks fingers underneath the waistband and lowers them down.

That move has him gasping, and then he's urging her to face him, pushing her against the stone wall, and lowering himself to his knees in front of her, and yes, please, the thought of his tongue on her is so overwhelmingly tantalizing that she damn near forgets the reasons this is a bad idea.

"Is it alright, if I—" his eyes are deadlocked on her, sexy, and she's incredibly overwhelmed by how good he looks, waiting and wanting for her.

She nods vigorously and braces a hand on each of his shoulders, sucking in a breath of anticipation, and then—

—he's on her. She lets out a little moan at the feeling of his mouth where she wants him.

"Oh _fuck!_ you feel like honey," he says between laps, "taste like…." he darts his tongue back through her folds, lapping up her wetness eagerly. "Tangerines and salt. Delicious."

The things he's saying have her going into overdrive. But his movements are... odd. He's not where she wants him, and he's a bit quick, a bit sloppy, but he's eager. She winces for a second, as that fog of forgetfulness clears, and she's acutely aware this is not _her_ Robin.

But she's bold, and she's a fucking queen, isn't she? She palms the back of his head and angles him to where he should be, adjusting herself so he's got her right. And he takes the direction well, moves where she needs him so his mouth is finally on his clit.

"Here?" he asks. She moans and nods in response, closing her eyes tight. Maybe if she gives him the proper encouragement when he hits something right, he can learn, and maybe...

Something seems to kick in just then. He starts giving her those little sucks she likes, licking her with a firm, flat tongue instead of giving her those little darts of his tongue that he had done before. It's good, very good, still a bit sloppier than his doppelgänger, but he's eager, and firm, and that's what she loves.

"You taste amazing," he mumbles into her sex. "Fuck, I could almost come from this."

He doesn't tease, this Robin, doesn't move his mouth away as her gasps become more rhythmic, as her moans become louder.

"Wanna feel you come," he mutters between sucks and swirls of his tongue, "So badly, wanna see it…"

He's anxious, she realizes, and that's why he's working her so hard, so fast. Deliberate, rough licks against her clit have her clawing at the wall, so he repeats it.

It's good, the way he eats at her, doesn't let up, but she's not used to a direct approach, without a warm-up, and while she's near the edge, she's not teetering over just yet.

"What do you need?" he asks, looking up at her, "What can I do?"

"Fi-fin- _Ah!-fingers,_ " she moans.

He smiles devilishly, hooks a finger at the right angle and presses it inside her.

He sets a pace that's a bit too fast and she finds herself crying out "Sl-slow down."

"Sorry," he mutters, before sucking on her clit, and oh, that's okay. He can go as fast as he wants if he's going to do that thing with his tongue again.

"I like… I like two... fingers," she says, and she's blushing at that. This is strange, having to tell this man things she keeps thinking he should already know.

But he learns fast, so when he adds a second finger, the pace becomes slower. He pays attention to her writhing and panting, and finds the exact spot that drives her wild, hitting it with every thrust of his hand. Pleasure blooms deep and low in her belly, spreading out with every pass of his fingers, and she's almost there, she just needs…

"S-suck, can you, can you…"

He gets the picture, sucking hard on her clit and pumping his fingers faster now, and she's an absolute stammering mess, nearly falling over. It feels so good.

She grasps at his shoulders and moans a _Yes, Robin, there, please don't stop please I need this, I need— Oh Robbinnn."_

The feeling surrounds her all at once, the tingling pulses of pleasure strumming through her veins. It's been so long, so very long, she hadn't even known how much she'd needed the release until she got it. She doesn't feel guilty like she feared, instead she feels _peaceful_ and _good_ and _satisfied._

His mouth and fingers continue to work her until she can't take it any longer, until the oversensitivity has her pushing him away.

"Gorgeous," is all he says, looking up at her, eyes dark and full of lust. She's just come, but looking into those beautiful eyes, she wants him again.

"Fuck me," she moans, leaning against the wall, panting heavily.

"Here?" he asks as he stands, wincing as he lifts himself from his knees. "Like this?" he leans against the stone wall, but he looks unsure, bless him. He doesn't know her well enough to know she prefers sex a bit... rough.

"There's another room," she whispers, "a bed." She uses her magic to reveal the room behind the mirror. He sees it and smiles. And then he lifts and carries her through the mirror to the makeshift bedroom in the vault. It's reminiscent of her and Robin's first time, and perhaps the sheer strength of nostalgia should make her feel uncomfortable, but she _loves_ it, loves reliving this moment.

He drops her on the bed and crawls on top of her, kissing her with a passion that reminds her he's been pent up for hours now, and probably needs a release as badly as she had needed hers.

"I want this off," she says, grabbing his top. And he moves off her to take it off quickly while she fiddles with the buttons and buckles of his pants.

He takes the hint, and drops out of them before joining her back on the bed, stark naked.

God, he's an attractive man. She's missed him so much, missed his arms around her and his cock inside her, missed the way his chest would press up against her, hard and solid.

He's looking down at her with _affection,_ showering compliments over her naked body, and fuck, she wants him so much.

She flips them so she's sitting straddled on top of him. He lets out a surprised _Mmm!_

She loves that sound. Her body is still buzzing from her orgasm, still a little drunk off the pleasure, and she lets herself indulge a bit. All she can think about is making him say that _again,_ hearing him moan like that _again._

So that is how she finds herself crawling down his body. His eyes go wide at that, as if in disbelief. She kisses a line down from his stomach to his groin, traces a firm lick underneath both hip bones. God he looks like her Robin everywhere, even here. And then she grasps him, looks up at him and smiles.

His expression is hard to read, he looks... a bit awestruck. His jaw is dropped open, eyebrows raised as he cups a palm behind her head, stroking up and down encouragingly.

The moment she places her mouth on him, he lets out a surprised gasp. He had to have known where this was going, so his surprise confuses her, has her releasing him and looking up to make sure he is okay.

"Are you sure, beautiful?" He asks, uncertainty all over his voice.

"Mmmm," she hums before taking him inside her mouth again.

"Fuck!" he cries, "I didn't — you're a queen, I didn't ever imagine— oh, good god, that's amazing, don't stop."

She remembers then that _this_ type of sex has a certain connotation in the Enchanted Forest. It's for whores and peasant girls and loose women in taverns, but not for someone you respect, not for someone you court or wish to love. He had just done it for her, probably because he knows that sort of thing is appreciated by women, and given his hesitation, appears he hadn't expected her to agree to it.

 _Her_ Robin had been a happily married man living in the forest. He and Marian must have worked that out, because he never seemed to have any issue with the Queen sucking cock.

"Yes," she says before licking his shaft from base to tip. "It's different here. This is good." She takes him all in her mouth and hums, then slowly releases him, her tongue wrapping around the vein on the underside of his cock. "Isn't it?"

"It's, um— _ahh—_ incredible _,_ god, so bloody perfect, please, more."

Regina has experience here that he does not, because she has slept with his body before, she has gotten to know the ins and outs of how this body responds to touches, gentle sucks and licks. She takes him in deep, down her throat, and sucks hard as she bobs up and down on his cock. She repeats the action, adding swirls of her tongue on a random thrust.

He's shaking and stuttering out soft curses, his hands trembling as they run through her hair.

"God, you look bloody perfect... so fucking gorgeous sucking me like that." She feels his eyes on her again, hears his desperate pants as she sucks and adds, "So gorgeous doing anything."

It punches her in the gut, hearing him say anything tender. This isn't a particularly sentimental man, and she doubts he is in the habit of false flattery. She could probably handle it if this were just sex, if she was just a warm body (she couldn't, it would crush her, this is so dangerous), but when he speaks to her like that she feels anything but.

It only makes her want to please him more, and has her taking him deeper, sucking harder, tongue lapping against him, spurred on by every grunt, every sex-soaked cry of pleasure that rips from his lips.

"Fuck! What you are doing…" he pants. She looks up at him on a lazy bob and catches him with his eyes screwed shut, almost wincing, but she doubts he's in the slightest bit of pain.

She revels in the sounds he makes as she continues to please him with her mouth, releasing him for a moment to give proper attention to his balls, licking and sucking the sensitive skin, teeth scraping gently the way _her_ Robin likes.

They are the same, it seems, when it comes to this, because he's writhing underneath her, head thrashing back and forth as he lets out muffled curses and moans.

"Feels so good," he grunts. His hand drops back down to run through her hair. She looks up and locks eyes at him, and the very sight in front of her causes arousal to stir low in her belly. He's further gone than she had realized, eyes wide and lust-filled, skin flushed, beads of sweat around his hairline. It's reminiscent of their first time here, when the uncertainty and longing and sheer frustration of their situation had translated into sexual fireworks. She'd needed him so badly that night, and he'd needed her. He had been aggressive but respectful, trying so hard to hold himself back from devouring her whole, until she'd made it clear that's what she _wanted._ They had been loud and rough, clawing and scraping and biting each other as much as they traded tender kisses and words of love.

When they had finally exhausted themselves on each other, they lay in this bed, sweat slicked and well fucked. It's funny now, how they went to bed thinking they were doomed, that they had an overwhelming obstacle in front of them.

Oh, and what she wouldn't give now for a reincarnated ex-wife to be the only hurdle in their midst.

It's not time to dwell on _that_ though, because Robin is begging her to take him back in her mouth. The hand not in her hair keeps reaching down to touch himself. She slaps it away playfully, doing her best to wink at him.

"Mine," she purrs. She plants a firm lick over the tip of him before lowering her mouth around him, sucking him faster now. and the hint of possession must have really set him off, if the way he slams palms on either side of him, fists the sheets and gasps _Fucking Hell!_ is any indication.

She gets lost in the passion of it, bringing him pleasure with her mouth, hand gripped firmly at the base of his cock, taking in all the sounds and feelings of it, until he reaches _that_ point, where a particular pass of her tongue catches his precum, causing him to cry out in desperation, has him reaching down and tapping her shoulder, whispering _Regina, god, I—"_

But before he can finish he jerks erratically, and she knows what that motion means. She hums approval. She won't let him feel bad about this as he shoots off into her mouth. He tastes the same, and while it's not a taste she thought she'd miss, she finds herself swallowing eagerly.

"Shiiiiit, oh god, I'm... so- _oh_ -sorry! Fucking hell, you feel…"

When the last of the orgasm leaves his body (and her throat), she crawls back up his body, places a peck to his lips and wraps arms around him. He's blowing out deep, heavy puffs of air, and when she lays her head on his chest she can feel that comforting heart beating rapidly, thundering beneath his ribs.

She loves that sound.

"I have to apologize," he says when he catches his breath.

"No, you don't," she assures, circling kisses around his heart. "I very much enjoyed that."

He chuckles incredulously. "I doubt you enjoyed it as much as I did. I doubt it's possible for anyone to enjoy anything more than I enjoyed that."

Her cheeks flare as he clears his throat.

"I had wanted to... if you wanted, of course, I had been picturing being with you in a more _traditional_ way."

She kisses him deeply now, unable to resist. He's startled a bit, probably knowing what has just been in her mouth, but he doesn't push her away, just accepts her tongue and kisses her back. If he tastes himself on her, he doesn't let it show. "We have all night, Robin," she reminds, "we have more than enough time to be traditional."

"Fuck," Robin mutters, squeezing her tightly, "you're incredible."

She laughs, and gives him a playful swat to his chest.

And then she realizes something, and her expression grows curious. "You haven't done much of this, have you?"

He lets out an almost exasperated scoff. "If you are asking me what I think you are, milady, I can assure you I am more than experienced." He stares at her with this insulted look, and adds, "There are many barmaids who could attest to that, if you don't believe me, whenever the mood strikes, I have no trouble—"

"That's not what I meant," Regina assures, "I am aware what you look like. I'm sure you have no trouble finding someone to warm your bed." That seems to lighten the mood and lift the man's ego enough, causing him to smirk, and squeeze her shoulder.

She tries to shake the image of Robin fucking others out of her head. It wouldn't have bothered her much, but he died, and she never really discussed this with _her_ Robin. He had only really spoken of Marian. Had he also picked up an assortment of girls at taverns? Probably before Marian. Before Roland. "I meant done _this."_ She motions to them, lying together. And he still looks stiff and uncomfortable so she adds, "I haven't either. Only with... him. And maybe one other…" she thinks of Graham, of how they held each other, occasionally. Of how they got to know each other's bodies. "Yes, with one other."

"I'm not in the business of getting attached," he admits. "Not really my style. It's… well…"

"I understand, believe me," she chuckles darkly, thinking of what getting attached had gotten her. It had left her time after time with a broken, bleeding heart that ached and hurt and made her think even less of herself. Daniel, her father, to an extent Graham, and then Robin… all people she'd gotten attached to, and all men who had died by her hand in one way or another, all. She did not like getting attached. "And yet... it has its benefits, wouldn't you say?" she asks, looking up at him with a smile.

He smiles slyly. "Oh yes, your majesty, quite a lot of benefits."

There's a pause where none of them speaks, and she cozies up to him further. She can tell he's thinking of saying something, and it might be something that shatters all of this into a million pieces. She clings tighter to him while she stills has him.

"To tell you the truth, Regina, I was quite a busy man in the Enchanted Forest," he explains, stroking her arm, "I've laid with women, but I hadn't…" he sighs, "I had always wanted to try that, to taste a woman. But it's not exactly the sort of thing done with women of the night and bar maidens, is it?"

Oh.

"You'd never….?"

He shakes his head a bit sheepishly. "Well it's not exactly done in my realm. Though frankly, I'm starting to _seriously_ wonder why."

She should have known from the odd little way he had first approached her, the hesitation when he lowered himself to her, the odd little darting licks, the inability to find where she was most sensitive without direction... She was his first. But he's a fast learner, it was only a few moments before he was more than satisfactory.

"Those who have relationships or marriages do it plenty," Regina sighed. "But they don't speak of it. I'm aware of the theories of the men and women who perform these tasks." She kisses his chest tenderly. "Thank you for giving it to me anyway."

A man performing oral sex on a woman is seen as womanly. Weak. And, oddly, though it makes no earthly sense, a symptom of homosexual urges.

She remembers hearing the laughter of the knights in her kingdom, speaking about a guard getting caught with his head between the thighs of a handmaiden. "Who knows what _else_ he'd put in his mouth," the one had snorted, "I hear he moaned the name of the servant boy while he was at his task!"

Robin, who had grown up as a noble, had probably been raised to see this as dirty and off-limits. Yet he gave it to her anyway, no doubt because there are _other_ well-known, truer rumors, about the pleasure the act gives to women.

He tried. For her.

"It was my pleasure," he responds, squeezing her tightly, "and I truly do mean that. It was-it was good?"

"Better than good," she confirms.

She hears his satisfied sigh and cannot help but smile into his chest.

.::.

He hadn't felt this connected to her at first.

Of course, he felt _something_ for her, because she's a beautiful woman, and she looks at him as if he were so much more than the common thief that he is. But he hadn't felt _this,_ what he feels now.

If he's honest, he felt it the moment she merged. She had warned him she wouldn't be the same person, had even apologized for it, but the second she became the person she is now, something inside him cried out for her.

And now, now he feels even more.

Perhaps it's because she's given him so much, opened herself up in every way, and given him something he'd never had before.

Robin knew a version of him had a relationship with this woman, and he knew in a different realm she was a feared and powerful Queen. So while he'd dreamed of fucking her, he had never dreamed they'd engage in _this._

He'd always wanted to though, thought of it, never indulged, of course, lest his reputation be hurt, but something called out to him, something inside him told him things would be different with _her_. And god, it was amazing, tasting her wetness, being rewarded with even more on a particularly good lick or suck. He hadn't known at all what he was doing, had only heard stories. And now all he wants is more. With her.

Of course, she did delicious things to him, too. He'd had his cock sucked before, of course. A hired whore will service you with her mouth for a few coins and a bed for the night, an overeager bar wench may get kinky and go at it, and he's indulged in both of those a few times, but none of those women holds a candle to the things Regina has just done.

Perhaps because she actually cared about his enjoyment instead of just trying to get him off and out the door.

Whatever it is, what they shared is special, and he cherishes it. Wants to give her more. Wants to give her everything.

He motions her up, off his chest, and draws her into another kiss. She moans into the kiss, and reaches between them to give his cock a stroke. He's already hardening, just talking about what they shared, just remembering the honeyed nectared taste of her, the way her tongue had slid over his entire member, how she had put her mouth all over him, hadn't shied away, and _fucking hell…._

He thrusts into her palm as they kiss, until he's fully erect and ready. He breaks the kiss, revelling in the little gasp Regina gives as he kisses down her neck, onto her chest.

He palms at her ass again, causing her to chuckle a bit. He should maybe be offended (this is no laughing matter), but he's a bit far gone already, and it _is_ a sexy laugh. And besides, as his hands wander up and down her thigh, as he kisses up and down her neck, she starts to make other, more pleasing sounds. That little sharp gasp, those breathy little moans, hell, he loves those sounds.

He imagines she needs more time, needs a warm up, and he's tilting her onto her back to give those breasts attention (she liked being touched there, she had arched into the it, and he loves that).

Robin catches a nipple in his mouth and sucks at her slowly, twists his tongue against the hardened peaks like he thinks she likes, and she writhes and groans in a way that tells him he was right.

She grabs the hand that's still on her ass, and moves it across her hip, and down, and…

"Fuck!" he cries into her chest. He can feel how wet she is between her legs, already, or maybe still, maybe she was being honest when she said she had _enjoyed_ sucking his cock.

But he's not going to dwell on that right now, because his fingers are coated in the evidence of her arousal, and it's fucking indescribably sexy, and if he keeps thinking about her enjoying his cock this will be over far too soon.

She slides his hand up, moving it into place, and that's right, he remembers where she needs him. It's odd, he fumbles a bit with her at first, and then instinct must take over, and he seems to understand her body in ways he can't quite articulate.

He rubs her between steady, wet fingers while trading lazy kisses with her that she breaks to let out shaky, uneven breaths. That sensitive bundle of nerves becomes more swollen, tighter, as she pants and thrusts against him, and god, he'd never guess he'd find touching a woman with his _hand_ to be so erotic.

"Robin, you feel so good, I—" she rocks into him harder, babbling now, incoherent words conveying how much she's enjoying it, and god, he wants more.

"Damnit, I want to be inside you." It's more of a request than a wish. He's sure she's fine with it, she's been more than willing, and yet, something has him searching for the permission anyway.

"Please!" she cries out, nodding vigorously as she rocks into him. She fumbles blindly for his cock, giving it a testing stroke.

He situates himself between her thighs, looking down from above her. She looks beautiful like this, in the midst of pleasure, sweaty and needy.

He guides himself in and groans. She's all liquid heat and velvet walls wrapped snugly around him, and he loses himself in the feeling.

.::.

He's good with his hands, like her Robin. In fact, she cannot feel a difference at all, and it's almost disarming, but so, so, good. She loses herself in the feeling, let's herself dream he's back, that this is her Robin.

The moment he thrusts into her the little bubble of denial bursts.

He doesn't quite feel the same, despite being exactly like Robin in every physical way. He and Robin are both strong, they are both aggressive, but her Robin had this confidence in his movements, he thrust in deep and fast, and this one…. it's short, stunted, quick thrusts that don't hit where she needs to.

She flips them then, urging him to lie back on the pillow as she straddles his waist and takes him in.

Now _this_ is good. He's angling his hips up to meet hers just like her Robin had, and his moans and grunts are just the same. He feels the same, inside her. His movements combined with the lazy rhythm she's set for him just... works. His hands are on her hips, gripping tightly, and she loves that, loves how solid and real it feels.

"God, Robin, I wanted this so bad, you had me aching for it, and it feels-!"

"Tell me how I feel," he growls, and _god_ that's hot, and so... familiar.

"Mmm, you're so... so deep inside me, and everytime I feel you hit— oh! right there! — it's…" She never could describe in words what he does to her, and this time is not any different, though she wants to, because he deserves to hear it. "You make me feel so... alive, fuck, your cock is just—" She swivels her hips, twisting as she raises and lowers on him, and it has him digging his fingers tightly against her side.

"You're amazing, fuckiing shit, Regina, so beautiful," he cries, "oh fuck, darling, you gotta slow down."

She bites her lip and does exactly that, draws out his heavy moans that have her buzzing with excitement, her mind racing and mixing reality with the past, until every meeting of their hips is strumming in a melody of _Robin, Robin, Robin, Robin._

Her Robin had liked this. Her on top. He had asked for it in Camelot, had practically begged after he nearly died. He'd wanted her, so desperately, had whispered as much in her ear while they were surrounded by the god damned Charmings. He wanted a nice good fuck to wash away the bad feelings of earlier. He let her know how much he wanted it all night in hushed words against her ear, as they all sat together and discussed the dangers of Camelot, til she was soaked between her legs, and wanting it just as badly as he did. She'd been uncharacteristically aggressive that night, slammed him onto the bed (he'd chuckled, throaty and lust-filled and sexy). She'd magicked off his clothes and hers, jumped on top of him, and ridden him, begging him to soothe the aching longing he had caused in her that night. He'd loved it, told her over and over again how beautiful she looked, how she needed to slow down or he'd make a mess of their evening and spill too soon.

And this night is so reminiscent, with Robin telling her the same things, digging his hands into her sides in the same way, those moans of pleasure ripping past his lips as he moves inside her, and god, how every thrust works her up more, sends ripples of pleasure throughout her body.

When she feels that dizzying tingle she can't resist anymore, and assumes a firm, fast pace. He makes a sound of protest, but she only shakes her head and moves his hand to her clit. His fingers find her clit and rub against her like she needs. Once the pace is set, he shuts his eyes tight.

"Close, please, I— I need to come, please Robin, please—"

"God, don't say things like that, darling, I-I'm weak for you, fuck— mm! Please tell me you're —"

Nimble fingers are making tight circles over where she's needy for him, working her just the way she likes.

She looks down at him, her vision is blurred in a hazy cloud of lust, and god, he looks so perfect like this, feels so perfect, too, when he's touching her, when he's inside her, when his cock is angled just right, hitting just right, and he's beautiful, alive and hers —

"Fuck, Robin, I'm going to — mm, I love you, I love you so much, I'm— !"

Orgasm hits her hard, has her almost collapsing on him, but his hands move to steady her, to keep her moving, as pleasure blooms and courses through her veins.

"Mmm, you look so good when you come!" He groans and pants, chasing his orgasm. Curses spill from his lips, dirty, sexy, complimentary words of how _hot_ how _sexy_ she is, how _tight_ her _cunt_ is, and she loves that about Robin, the fact he's so loose lipped and raunchy when he's close.

He spills inside her, murmoring soft curses and compliments, looking at her as if she held the key to the whole world.

And then he loosens his grip on her hips, and she collapses into him, her full weight on his body, loving the way he feels, solid and strong and _hers_.

For awhile all she can do is focus on catching her breath, on her rapid heartbeat and Robin's warm skin. She's immersed in the afterglow, and it's wonderful.

After a few minutes, as heavy pants fade and breathing starts to regulate, Robin is the first to speak.

"Did your Robin get this kind of treatment all the time?" he asks playfully, as he swirls fingers in circles around her shoulder.

She laughs lightly. "All the time?" she grins and raises her eyebrows before pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. "When he was good, perhaps…"

"And was he good often?" he smirks at her almost admiringly. She tucks her chin into her neck and plays with a strand of hair, smoothing it behind her ears

"Yes, very often." And then, because it had been true, up until the very end, "Always."

He chuckles. "Well then. I would rest assured that he had quite a good life, Regina." He kisses her forehead. It's _sweet,_ and comforting, and it warms her heart that he can detect her uncertainty over that subject.

.::.

He's not a fool.

He's not a fool, and he knows that her first _I love you_ is not for him. But he understands it, understands how in the moment she may need to say it. He won't fault her for it, and certainly won't bring it up.

It's the first time a woman has said _I love you_ to him where he wished it were true, instead of feeling trapped.

Not that he loves her back. He doesn't love her yet, he hardly knows her. But since she became one, since she and the Evil Queen merged back together, he feels a kinship with her, feels close and connected in a way he does not understand. And it has him wanting to protect her, and keep her from pain.

So instead of bringing up the _I love you_ that is hanging in the air, he draws her into conversation, reminding her that he is _not_ Robin in the only way he really can. She doesn't bring up what she said mid-orgasm (not that she needs to), and he believes they can ignore it.

Perhaps she hadn't even realized, in the heat of the moment, that she said it. He pushes it to back of his mind, and holds her closer. He breathes in her scent, the soft lavendar of her shampoo, mixed with the sweet smell of something unique to _her._ And really, he has no need to have heavy conversation right now.

They spend the rest of the night trading lazy kisses, instead, and enjoying the first real sleep either of them have had in a long while.

.::.

The first time he realizes he loves this woman is at the town diner — Granny's, it's called. She's in a pristine, beautiful outfit that she carefully selected for today's important meeting. Regina is finicky when she's in mayor mode, he's realized in the short time he's known her. She's tense and has this desire to be absolutely perfect.

There's a little redhaired infant in the diner, one that screams and cries. Regina offers to soothe the child.

He thinks she makes the offer just so everyone in the damn diner can get some peace and quiet. But when he sees how she looks at the infant, how she has the touch of a mother….

He knows it's more than that.

He's appreciating the way the two of them look together, as if they fit, and suddenly he finds himself thinking of a child of his own, and how that baby would look in Regina's arms.

The sweet moment is interrupted by an impressive amount of spit-up that lands on Regina's no-doubt expensive jacket…thing.

He winces, knowing how she looked for the perfect outfit for the occasion. And now, on the right shoulder is a stain that smells of sour milk.

But Regina doesn't mind. She laughs, and coos at the child, and speaks stern words to what he assumes is the mother. He had stopped giving any thought to settling down the moment Marian left this earth but now… now…

He loves this Regina, this former Evil Queen who now spends her days dressing up in tight rich fabric to discuss budgets and schools and something called "zoning", who looks completely unapproachable but has no problem taking a babe in her arms and giving it love.

"Who was that?" Robin asks, looking over towards mother and child, as Regina joins him in their booth.

"That's my sister," she says, fixing her hair and magicking out the stain. Something bothers her, he can see it. "So that must be your niece," he surmises, looking at the redhaired infant in the mother's arms.

Regina goes a bit pale before recovering. "Yes, she's my niece. But the relationship between me and my sister is… complicated."

"Is that because you're a natural mother, and she is not?" he asks plainly. "She can't even soothe her own child. Doesn't seem the least bit capable. Why do some people even have children?" A better man probably would be less blunt, but he is not a better man, is he?

"Robin," she warns, "Zelena tries her best. Being a single mother is hard."

"Yet I've no doubt you fared better," he counters.

"Unfortunately that is not true," she says with shrugged shoulders. "Henry had colic, the poor thing cried all the time. So I understand."

"Well if the child was ill that's one thing. But I cannot imagine a baby would be anything but comfortable in your arms."

She swallows heavily and waves the compliment off. And he loves her even more for that, even more for qualities she has that she does not see.

But the thing of it is, _she_ does not love _him_.

She starts saying it more often, saying that she loves him, particularly when they are joined, particularly when they are in the throes of passion. She says it often, and my god, he caves and says it back. Because he does love her, he does.

But she loves _her Robin,_ not him. He can tell, everytime she tries to adjust every little thing he says or does, every time she talks about honor or codes or morals. He has a code, he tells her, and the code is to do whatever is necessary to keep his family and loved ones safe. Sometimes you might have to get dirty There is no greater code than that.

But she disagrees. She wants to change him, to make him into something he is not.

And it's frustrating.

She doesn't see how he's used his natural instincts to better the town. How he's helped install locks that are harder to pick, how he's used his charming, persuasive personality to get the town to vote on a tax hike to benefit the schools (all she sees is that he exaggerated the truth a bit, that he pretended to be friends with people he dislikes, to garner the votes Regina needed — she does not like this). She doesn't see how he's changing, how he's becoming _good_ , but good in his own way.

It's after they battle the black fairy that he finally says something. He and Hook had tricked her, pretended to be on her side. She was, after all, drawn to their darkness like a magnet. And they played her, hurt some people on their way (no deaths, no serious injuries) but in the end, they were able to cuff her, to strip her of that powerful magic and save the town.

All it had cost was a broken leg for Marco, a black eye for Granny (the old bat didn't care, said as much), and a cracked rib for Tink, and that's really not much, is it?

She had berated him anyway, told him that heroes don't hurt people, that it's never really winning if it's winning by deception, is it?

And he can't help but argue with her, because he has heard the stories. He's fully aware that she has no problem with telling lies and getting her hands dirty if it is for the greater good. She isn't actually against his methods, she's against the fact that _he_ is doing them.

Because _her_ Robin would not do that.

They have a slight disagreement, and she begs him to drop it, to just let them relax, and watch television, to just not discuss it for the rest of the day. And he lets her have her way, until the moment she presses her lips to his at the end of the night, and whispers, "I love you."

"Regina, I love _you_ , but you don't love _me,"_ he finally says. It's like a weight is lifted off his chest the moment the words are said, and he breathes a big sigh of relief that he's finally cleared the air.

"Of course I love you!" she responds, turning to him in shock, "Robin, I do," she soothes a hand up and down his chest, her eyes drawn to the movement. When she looks back up to meet his gaze, her eyes are wet and red. "I do," she insists, but her voice is cracking and small.

"You love _him."_ He says sweetly, running a hand through her hair. "And it's alright, love, because I love you and I know you don't do this to hurt me. You've given me a good life, and I want to be everything I can for you. But I can't be him."

She lays a head on his chest, and he wraps hands around her tightly.

"I'm sorry," she says, "sometimes….I didn't realize I was doing it."

"It's alright," he repeats, "I just...if you are hoping that I will turn into him, I fear you'll never truly be happy with me. And if you aren't, you and I should part."

She sobs softly into his chest, a weak little _No_ bubbles out from between her cries. "I'm happy with you," she insists, "I just...I…"

"You were happier with him," he finishes for her.

She doesn't argue. Can't argue.

"I don't mind being your second choice, Regina," Robin sighs, "Maybe I should, but I don't. I can't compete with a ghost. And I certainly can't compete with the saintly version of me that exists in your heart. All I ask is you try to appreciate me for me."

She sighs, and shakes her head. She promises to try.

.::.

The first few months after her visit to the Wish Realm, Regina did everything she could to try to make the man standing in front of her behave like the man she once loved.

But the moment he calls her on it, reminds her that he's his own person, she tries to see him for who he is.

She tries to appreciate differences instead of similarities.

This Robin drinks more, and when he gets drunk he's not an _angry_ drunk, but he does get…testy. He sasses and snarks, tells dirty jokes and has Killian and Charming roaring with laughter. He's _funnier_ than her Robin, honestly, has a better delivery, and a dark sense of humor she _loves._

This Robin _likes_ magic. Her Robin had hated it, was incredibly wary of it. But this Robin finds it interesting, asks her questions about it, and is proud of her when she uses it. She finds she likes this better, this reaction to what is innate and inside her.

This Robin is not afraid to hurt feelings. Her Robin was more tempered, he held his tongue a lot, and was more internal with his feelings and emotions. This Robin has no problem calling Snow an idiot when she's being one, or calling Hook a wanker when he's generally being….Hook. She finds she likes this bolder version of him.

This Robin also has an interest in learning that the other did not. He wants to know about magic, electricity, and driving. Her Robin had refused all that, had steadfastly insisted on living in the woods instead of learning the technology of the modern era, and that was annoying, to say the least. This Robin has embraced the ways of the new world, however, it seems.

One day she comes home to find him working in the laundry room.

"Washer went out," he explains from behind the giant appliance. "Marco actually had some tips on how to fix it."

"Don't be silly," she scoffs, "I'll call someone to fix it in the morning. Or I can..." She waves her hand, reminding him of her magic ability to fix what is broken.

"No, Regina. All magic comes at a price, and I don't think we should pay anything to fix this thing. Plus I figured I should learn how these devices work, if I"m going to live here, in this realm, wouldn't you say? I want to be able to contribute."

She frowns. "You contribute plenty."

He moves from behind the machine and wipes his hands on a clean cloth. He makes his way over to her and puts her hand in his. "Regina, I can't help you with your paperwork, and I can't help you with magical potions. I can't help you….mourn." They try not to talk about it, how she's still grieving, but he knows she is. "What I can do is learn how to fix things around the house, so there's one less thing for you to worry about. Understood?"

She nods, and her eyes water, as she's overwhelmed by the _feeling_ she has for this man.

"I love you," she whispers, as tears fall down her face.

He smiles and squeezes her hand. "Love you too," he says sincerely.

She's not overly sentimental, and a simple offer to fix a washer shouldn't be doing this to her, but she can't help it. She pulls him toward her and gives his lips a quick peck.

Something snaps, bends and breaks, it feels like an explosion though not a sound has been made. And when she goes to break the chaste kiss, it's his arm, that flies around her, to deepen it.

She can't remember a better kiss, and she's hungry for more.

But this time it's him breaking the kiss, and her chasing his lips, trying to pull him back more into what felt deep and passionate and _right._

"Regina," he says, eyes bright and wide, and smiling, "Regina, my love."

And there it is.

The voice she never thought she'd hear again coming out of the man she'd all but convinced herself would never speak like this.

But here he is. Speaking as if he were her Robin. The richness is there again, the lack of the posh accent, the slow, steady murmur that she still hears in her dreams. It's all come to life, and it's overwhelming and she can't bring herself to believe it's real just yet.

"Robin?" she asks, incredulously. If this is another dream, it's a horribly cruel one, and she's had so many, she thought she was past it….

"You're still quite a good kisser," he responds cheekily. And that's all it takes for her to wrap her arms around him and hug him tight, drawing him into another kiss.

"I missed you," she breathes, "I really didn't think I'd ever see you again, I—"

"I know, love," he sighs, "I can't explain where I was... it was like I was floating. I could feel things, I could feel you, hear you sometimes even, I could replay our times together... but... it just…"

He kisses her again, passionate and heady. "Should I be jealous that you slept with a version of me so often?" He teases. She laughs, god, how wonderful it is to laugh.

"You remember," she breathes. It's interesting, the way this curse broke.

"I remember," he says, smiling. "How is it possible? I remember, Regina. I love you so much." He swoops in for another kiss.

"I don't know how this is possible," she says, her voice cracking and wet.

"True love's kiss, perhaps?" he asks with a little wink. He's trying to be cute, be funny, but his eyes are as misty as hers, trying to keep back tears.

He presses his lips to hers again, but it's quick, and then he's ripping away from her with a worried look. And _Shit_ that's right, she should have remembered this the second his memories came back.

"Oh, god, where is Roland? Regina? Is he alright? Is he — did he— who?"

"He's fine! Healthy and happy and fine." she assures. "Just... in a different realm."

She quickly explains how the Merry Men left with Roland, how Zelena had assured them it would be alright, how she never got to say goodbye, but they felt certain that this was Robin's wish.

He frowns in disagreement. "You were the loves of my life. I want you together."

"We'll get him back," she promises, "we will. I'm sorry, before, I didn't tell you about your children, I just thought they weren't truly yours, and it would be too painful to..."

Tears paint her cheeks, so she ducks down to avoid his eyes. She feels weak and pathetic and terrified. She can't read him like this, and it seems like such a cruel joke to finally get him back from the dead, only to lose him forever because she did not do right by him.

She's still too scared to look at him (the coward that she is) so she's surprised when she feels warm arms surround her and pull her into his chest.

"Shhh," he soothes, and then he says the words she's needed to hear since the moment he returned. "You were right not to tell me. It would have been too traumatic, for all of us. And thank you for caring for my daughter. You made sure she was safe in my absence, I know it could not have been easy."

She sobs openly now, unashamed, clinging to him tightly, her face planted in his chest. "I love you," she cries into his shoulder, "I love you, I missed you so much, I tried, Robin, I tried, I…"

"I know," he assures, "I have all of _his_ memories too. I know how hard this was on you." She sniffles an attempt to make light of it, but he won't hear of it. "I can't even look back on all those memories, Regina, the pain you were in… my god."

He kisses her head, brushing the top of her hair before drawing her back so he can see her face, kissing her tear-stained cheeks and salty lips once again.

"I need to see my son."

The noise she makes is something between a choked cry and a laugh, but she nods. "Absolutely, we'll get him. I know he's safe, I've kept up with him this time, I... I have a device. I'll show you." She magics an arrow in her hands. "I made this with an arrow he left me," she explains "I cannot locate him, Robin, because he's in a different realm, but I can ensure he's still alive. And I can peek into some of his last memories."

She draws them out. Thin, transparent wisps seep out of the arrowhead, projecting over the arrow. It's Roland and John, playing hide-and-go-seek in the forest. Bless him, John can't run to save his life, but god, he tries.

"He's happy, he's safe. I tried, Robin I tried to make sure of that, but we'll get him back. I can get to the Enchanted Forest easily now, there are ways, our worlds are linked now. Portals are easy. We'll get him back."

"Yes, we will." Robin smiles at her, kissing her on the forehead. The image of Roland playing has seemed to assure him completely. And now he's just... optimistic and happy. "And after we do all that, let's work on renaming my daughter, shall we?"

This time it's a broken smile with tears falling freely that meets his cheeky comment, and she nods in agreement.

She magics them back to the vault, where the ingredients for the portal are waiting, just as they have been since the day Roland left. It's fitting that they return here, a place where they've proven their unspoken connection to one another time and again. And now, once again, that connection is solidified even further as Regina mixes the recipe for the portal. She holds her breath as the last ingredient is added, waiting for this to all fall apart.

But it doesn't. The portal opens, a swirling abyss of _promise_ and _hope_ and she shares a knowing look with Robin, grasps at his hand, and takes that dive with him. Together.


End file.
